


Belt and Suspenders

by kingbooooo



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Hand Jobs, Just So Much Smoking, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Smoking, Valoris, cat lying about the last time he was fed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingbooooo/pseuds/kingbooooo
Summary: Set in the aftermath of the trial of Dyatlov, Bryukhanov, and Fomin.  Valery, isolated and alone, works on his tapes until a letter from a friend arrives.  Boris reflects on his life and decides to chance one last bold move.





	Belt and Suspenders

Valery Legasov  
  
The tape recorder clicked off, startling Valery out of his reverie. He’d daydreamed again, forgetting that the recorder was running. He sighed, stubbing out his cigarette, tucking a thumb under the edge of his glasses to scratch his eyelid.  
  
He was tired. No, exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt well-rested. It was the radiation, of course. But knowing about the effects and experiencing them were two different things entirely, and he hadn’t anticipated how mentally taxing it would be. Sometimes he spent an entire day in a fog, unable to concentrate on anything more than dressing, eating, sleeping. Some days he never got out of bed. That was happening more often.  
  
Valery felt something brush his ankle. He looked down.  
  
“All right, Dimka. All right. I will feed you.”  
  
Dimka trilled a response, trotting to the kitchen as Valery stood. The cat, with his little white feet and deep baritone purr was often the only reason for him to get up. Since his exile, he’d had no contact with anyone from his past. Not his family. Not Ulana. Ulana Khomyuk, whose unflinching bravery had shamed him into speaking the truth. She had gone to the hospital, the library, she’d found the answers. She had the most to lose, with a career and a spotless reputation. And she had been fearless.  
  
And not Boris Shcherbina. The last he’d seen of him was out that dirty car window, both Boris and Ulana. How acutely he missed Boris, a knifestick to the heart if he dwelled on it too long.  
  
He lit another cigarette, bending down to put food in the dish for Dimka. He didn’t have much else to fill his days. His memoirs, which he’d write, then tear up, then write again. The few letters he got were completely devoid of feeling, innocent chattering of his children, wondering when he would be back from his business trip. Valery wondered if the KGB was allowing those letters through out of benevolence or spite. He doubted it was the former.  
  
And his recordings. He rewound the tape until he heard the familiar high-pitched sounds of his voice sped up. Valery hit play, taking a long drag from his cigarette, listening until he arrived at silence and stopping the tape. He’d pick it up in the morning. He tucked the tape under the floorboard with the others, leaving one out. All they’d find, when they searched his apartment, was a recording of him reading aloud from a chemistry book.  
  
Still the naïve idiot, or at least let them think that’s what he was. Boris had once told him a naïve idiot was not a threat. So he puttered around his apartment. He walked if the sun was out, down to the park, where he could watch children play. It brightened his mood, seeing the sun go up again. The families made him miss his own, melancholy over their futures. Were they far enough away that they wouldn’t be affected? Were these children far enough away? He hoped so. As his star faded, theirs would grow and burn, burn a fire that would end the Soviet Union.  
  
One morning, there was a stack of letters in his mailbox. The agents, the man who was always just out of sight, the woman parked outside down the street, they must have gotten bored of his routine and of reading his mail.  
  
There were five letters from his son. He read the first one, getting halfway through before he started to weep, crumpling it and tossing it aside. Valery drew in a shuddering breath, his chest tight and painful. His fingers fanned the remaining letters across the table. One was addressed from a Cousin Fyodr.  
  
He turned the letter over in his hands. He didn’t have a cousin Fyodr. The letter had been opened and closed, badly. They weren’t even trying. Whatever was inside clearly wasn’t worth withholding. His thumb slipped under the edge of the envelope, opening it, unfolding unremarkable stationery.  
  
_Cousin Valera,  
  
How is the weather? Uncle has recently gotten two dogs, although they look more like wolves._ Something tickled in the back of his mind. _One is small and brown, the other large and silver._  
  
“We are sheep among wolves,” Valery had muttered to Ulana after he’d retrieved her from jail.  
  
“Then we must also be wolves, Valery,” had been the reply. Boris had eyed them both, his mouth pressed into a line, saying nothing.  
  
_Uncle is thinking of visiting his friend, the one at university. He’s got a lot of boarders. One of them is a nudist!_  
  
One night, Ulana and Valery and Boris had all gotten very drunk. They were celebrating something. Valery couldn’t remember what. He’d told them the story of roommate at university, the one who’d insisted on parading around completely naked. “Like to air everything out. It’s very good for the circulation,” he’d said when anyone complained.  
  
Boris had laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Ulana thought it was funny, but it had apparently struck Boris as particularly amusing. His laugh, not that short bark he’d give when someone offered a quip, but a full, deep rumble, still a little rough. It was music to Valery’s ears.  
  
_Both are doing as well as can be expected. I know you’d love to see them.  
  
Cousin, do write, although you know you must be very busy.  
  
-Fyodr_  
  
Valery was crying again. Ulana and Boris! They were alive. It was such good news. But he would never see them. He laughed, a choked sob emerging. He could write. He would write in the morning.

\- - -

Boris Shcherbina  
  
Boris coughed. His cough greatly interfered with his ability to enjoy his morning cigarette. A nurse, meaning well, had gently suggested that he cut back. He’d nearly bitten her head off. He coughed again, into his handkerchief. He’d switched to darker colors to hide what was coming up. A bloody handkerchief was deeply disconcerting to passing acquaintances and strangers.  
  
The coffee helped his sore throat. It was always sore. Each month it was something new. He felt as though he was an old car, all spare parts that were failing, one by one.  
  
Ulana had visited last week. She was doing better than he was. She was younger, and hadn’t tried to fly a helicopter over an open reactor. But, she’d confessed, she’d lost a back tooth. Her jaw had a nagging ache.  
  
He’d been glad to see her. The Kremlin had mostly left him and Ulana alone. Oh, he was still tailed, but they hadn’t searched his flat. His mail was generally delivered at a reasonable speed. He’d be able to travel, if he wanted, though he had neither the energy nor desire to do so.  
  
It would only get worse. And it could get very bad, this slow march towards death. Ulana had told him about what she’d witnessed in the hospital. It was awful, but for those men, it was over in a matter of days. He didn’t know what was worse, the sad looks he got from people, or watching himself crumble bit by bit.  
  
Boris had always prided himself on his strength. He’d joined up with the party when he was just twenty, volunteering for army service. It was backbreaking. It also taught him about power, who had it, who lost it, and who kept it.  
  
He had been a middling student, utterly uninterested in any subject except history. That, he’d devoured. It had served him well when he was working within the party. At each step up the ladder, new tasks, new opportunities, new challenges, meeting them at every turn, bending the world around him to his will.  
  
Now the ladder was smashed to bits. He’d been forced to contemplate how truly unimportant he was, and he wasn’t climbing anywhere. Even the stairs in his apartment complex left him winded.  
  
Boris had been glad to see Ulana. She was a pain in the ass, but she’d been right. She’d been right about Valery, about what he had to do. They had been lucky. They hadn’t had to give that damning testimony.  
  
Valery had, though. That clumsy, naïve pencil-pusher had been the bravest of them all. And for that, he’d paid the price. A dull ache settled in Boris’ head. The caffeine, perhaps the smokes, or the drink. He was drinking more than he’d like. Or perhaps him missing Valery. The thought would always cross his mind at the most inopportune of times.  
  
“Here.” Ulana had slid a page across the table. It was an address. Boris had held it up, his brows knit in puzzlement.  
  
“Valery.” She held up a hand. “Don’t ask me how I got it.” Ulana saw the look on his face. “No, not that. An old coworker sent it to me. Not everyone is our enemy.”  
  
Boris had held the address in his hand like a treasure. “Ulana. Thank you.”  
  
“I don’t think I need to tell you to be careful with what you write.” He’d nodded dumbly in agreement.  
  
It had taken him a week to write. Fyodr was a common enough name. It was possible Valery had a cousin Fyodr, or someone he would have called cousin. So, he’d written, and sent it off. Checked out a new book at the library. And waited.  
  
A letter arrived two weeks later. V.L. Boris had torn it open.  
  
_Cousin Fyodr,  
  
You are too kind to write. I’m glad to hear of Uncle’s new pets. Are they faring better? The larger one sounds more wolf than dog, which can make them very hard to train. Headstrong. Stubborn._  
  
Boris suppressed a laugh.  
  
_My health had not been good, but that’s not a surprise. Some days are better than others.  
  
I’m sure Uncle’s friend would love to see the dogs, but only if it’s safe. You know how Auntie can be. She doesn’t like new people.  
Tell me, which if the two dogs do you take more to?  
  
Yours in service,  
  
Comrade V. Legasov_  
  
Boris touched his face. It was wet, a tear tracing down his cheek. He was angry at this reaction, a crack in the façade. His heart had never had to make much room for this emotion.  
  
He had loved before. Katarina, from his hometown, who’d enjoyed reading poetry to him. Zlata, dark of hair and dark of eye, who’d debated him fiercely about history. But none had left such an impression as Valery. He tried not to think about it for any length of time.  
  
Boris finished his cigarette, dropping it into his coffee mug. His housekeeper Oleyna would cluck her tongue at this behavior, but he didn’t care. That’s what he paid her for. He stepped inside, setting the mug in the sink with a clang. He wondered when Ulana would visit next. They were running out of things to talk to each other about. There was only so many times they could rehash what had brought them together, commiserate about their fate, wonder aloud how Valery was doing. He rattled around in his desk drawer, fumbling for paper and pen.  
  
What was he doing, what madness had seized him? This was asking for trouble. A knock at the door in the middle of the night, a gun barrel in the small of the back, a bag over the head, a bumpy car ride in the back of a van. If he was lucky, it would be a bullet to the brain before his body would be dumped in a pit of lime. If he wasn’t lucky, a garroting. Bayonetting. Breaking every bone in his hands with a hammer. Any number of things that an inventive KGB operative could imagine. It was the one branch of government that encouraged creativity.  
  
He sat down at the dining table, lighting another cigarette, eyeing the vodka bottle next to the sink. A prick of pain spiked behind one eye. It was not the first time, and it left his eye blurry. Tears leaked out, from pain this time.  
  
“That does it,” he muttered to himself. He was dying. Valery was dying. What did it matter? It would be enough to buy him some sense of satisfaction, some reprieve from his painful, protracted death.  
  
And it would make Valery happy. Or so he hoped. Pen in hand, he began to write.

\- - -

Valery  
  
Another two weeks passed. The tapes were getting near done, Valery thought. He’d explained the problems with the RBMK reactors, the graphite tip, the various plants that had nearly been the precursor to Chernobyl. All of the science, all the sites of reactors, and all of the shortcuts the Soviets had taken. Soon it would be time.  
  
The mail had come twice. Short notes from his youngest. Nothing else. Either the KGB had seized a letter from “Fyodr,” or, or, or something had happened-  
  
No. No. That wasn’t it.  
  
The walk to the mailbox was difficult. Two letters. He didn’t notice the second one. The first one was from Fyodr Ivanovski. Valery barely felt the pinch in his lungs. The door securely latched, Valery had his back pressed to the door. Trembling fingers tore and scraped at the envelope.  
  
_Valera,  
  
Uncle is fine, although his new pets are certainly being picky. The smaller one is having problems with her teeth, I’m told. The big one, whom I like best, his lungs are bad._  
  
Valery drew in a sharp breath.  
  
_Weather here is lovely. Hope you’re well.  
  
-F_  
  
He slid down to the floor, reading the letter over again, his fingers tracing the writing. Boris had written it, Boris alone. He knew that now. Valery pulled his knees to his chest, like a little lost child, one hand around them. He tugged his glasses off before he pressed his face into his legs and cried, only stopping when Dimka began headbutting his shins, begging for food.  
  
Boris was all right.  
  
Valery could live on these letters.

_Do you have names for the dogs, or should I just refer to them as Wolf 1 and Wolf 2? Big Wolf and Little Wolf? Although they’re just dogs,_ Valery wrote.  
  
_They are more than dogs, Cousin! They are magnificent!_ was the response.  
  
_My apologies, Fyodr. I miss having dogs. Dimka is needy and distinctly undoglike._  
  
Weeks passed, then a month, and another, short missives inquiring into the health of Big Silver and Small Brown. The world seemed a little brighter, even as Valery felt his body coming apart at the seams. The tone shifted, nearly imperceptibly. Less playful, more personal.  
  
_I miss you, cousin.  
With deepest affection,  
-F_  
  
And then the letters stopped.  
  
The days bled together. Recordings. Walk. Feed Dimka. More pages for the memoirs written, only to be ripped up again and burnt on the stove. He’d gone to the library, picked out a few history books. Valery remembered that Boris was particularly interested in the Napoleonic Wars. There was one book remotely related. He took it home.  
  
It was a warm evening. Valery left the glass to the balcony open, Dimka contained by a screen door. The kitchen window was open too, a small cross-breeze doing little to cool the apartment. A moth had gotten in and Dimka was chittering and scampering after it. Valery smiled, watching him flit gracelessly about.  
  
Valery couldn’t sleep. He sat near the open patio door, a cigarette in one hand, the book in the other. The sun went down. He had a drink. He read a bit more. Valery blinked, realizing he’d read the same sentence three times. He set the book down.  
  
Outside, a car passed. Voices carried in from the other apartments, a laughing child, a baby who cried, a tv blaring. Perhaps it was a radio show, he couldn’t tell. Valery’s cigarette was mostly done. He held it up, contemplating lighting another, and how he could save the trouble of striking a match by lighting the new one from the stub.  
  
There was a soft knock at the door. Valery looked up, concerned. The knocking repeated. He should be worried, this was unusual visiting hours.  
  
And yet. The KGB did not knock politely, if they did at all. Valery stubbed out the cigarette in his ashtray. The knocking grew insistent.  
  
“Coming! Coming. Don’t break down my door.”  
  
Valery opened the door a crack, the chain across the door. The hallway was dark, the only light a dim glow from the stairwell down the hall. Whoever was out there was blocking most of it anyway.  
  
“Yes?” he asked.  
  
“Valera. Let me in.”

\- - -

Boris  
  
Even behind those coke-bottle glasses, Boris could see Valery’s eyes widen, first with recognition, then confusion.  
  
“Don’t make me stand out in the hallway.”  
  
“Oh,” Valery said quietly, closing the door. The chain rattled, the door opening again. Valery stepped back, letting Boris in.  
  
“It’s a mess. I haven’t had any visitors. I had no idea-”  
  
“Of course not. Would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?” Boris looked around. It was cluttered, but clean. Tidy. It was entirely as he would have pictured. Boris pulled out one of the chairs from the kitchen table, a rickety plastic and metal thing, and sat down.  
  
Valery paced, coiled tight. Boris used one leg to push the other chair out, gesturing with an open hand.  
  
“Oh,” Valery repeated, sitting. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.  
  
Boris raised a finger to his lips, tapping his ear and making a slow circle with his index finger. Valery shook his head, a short, curt gesture. “If they were listening, they would have taken me months ago.” He explained the tapes.  
  
Boris gave a short laugh. “You take one chance at being brave, and you’re hooked, aren’t you?” He felt his heart swell. Was that pride? Or something else entirely?  
  
Valery gave a small smile. His shoulder unhitched a little, his body still tense. Boris pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He saw Valery pat his pockets, locating a book of matches, striking one despite his trembling fingers. Boris leaned in across the flimsy plastic table, drawing in a lungful of smoke.  
  
“The doctor says I should cut back, as though I won’t be dead in a year or two. Do you have anything to drink?”  
  
Valery was up again, moving like a bird. His shirt sleeves were pushed up, nearly to his elbows. Glasses rattled gently as the cabinet door opened and shut. A bottle was placed on the table along with two tumblers.  
  
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Valery said quietly.  
  
“And you haven’t. I’m not here.” Boris coughed, taking another drag.  
  
Valery smiled again, one eyebrow arched much higher than the other, something he did when he was amused. Boris wondered if Valery even knew he was doing it.  
  
“You seem real enough.”

\- - -

  


Valery  
  
What was he doing here? Valery hadn’t ever read about delusions as a side effect of radiation, but anything was possible. His brain felt like mush half the time, it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to think he was now seeing things.  
  
The chair was far too small for Boris. Everything was too small for him, except his jacket. He’d lost a bit of weight. That jacket had always been a bit ill-fitting, but now it was at least one size too big. Of course he’d worn a suit. Boris probably slept in a suit.  
  
“You’re losing your hair,” Boris said. It was a fact, not an insult.  
  
“Still got yours.” Valery poured vodka into each of their glasses, wrapping his fingers around the cup as though it would keep him warm. He glanced up. Boris’ face was heavy and hard, as if carved from stone and brought to life by magic, never forgetting what it was before, his eyes, shadowed and sad. Valery knew they were blue, light blue. Why did he know that?  
  
The distance between them stretched, a deep chasm. Valery could fall into it if he leaned over too far. Perhaps he should fall in. He doubted he’d hit bottom, but rather spend an eternity tumbling over and over, his body swinging round as the darkness pressed in, taking little bits of him until he was nothing but memories, a whisper on the wind.  
  
Boris drummed his fingers on the table, bringing Valery back to his apartment, cramped, dusty, with the cracked ceiling and peeling linoleum. And Boris, impenetrable Boris.  
  
“What are you doing here, really?” Valery fixed his gaze on him. “No, don’t tell me you’re not here. You’re taking an awful risk. I’ve never known you to do something stupid-”  
  
“Are you calling me stupid?” Boris’ voice, that sandpaper roughness. Valery could only imagine how it would feel to have that voice very close, rumbling, warm on the curve of his ear. Something stirred in his stomach. He shook his head, trying to dispel that thought.  
  
“What if I were?” he shot back.  
  
Boris smiled, his thin lips widening, the grin not reaching his eyes.  
  
“I still have a few contacts willing to look the other way, a little money to grease a few palms, suggest strongly that an officer take a couple of days off, make their reports aggressively unremarkable.” He looked down. “Hello, who’s this?”  
  
“That’s Dimka. I’ve fed him already. He’s lying if he tells you otherwise.”  
  
Boris smiled, a real smile. He bent down, petting the cat. “I do seem to recall cat hair on your suits. I had a cat growing up. Had white feet, too.”  
  
“What did you call it?” Valery asked. Boris paused, looking up at him.  
  
“Cat.”  
  
Valery laughed. He hadn’t laughed, truly, in months. “Cat. You named it Cat. Boris, I don’t think you were ever a child. I think you just sprung, fully-formed, from the earth.”  
  
Boris laughed as well, his laugher dissolving into a cough. He pulled out a dark pocket square, coughing into it, his cough subsiding.  
  
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Valery said.  
  
“I just told you. What, do you want me to tell you again?”  
  
“You told me the how, Boris. Not the why.”

\- - -

Boris  
  
Boris’ chest hurt from the cough. He inspected the cigarette in his hand so that he didn’t have to look over at Valery.  
  
The why. Valery wanted to know the why. Boris looked down. Valery was leaning forward, his elbows on the table, one arm resting on it, the other hand, fingers knotted and curled, pressed into his mouth. He couldn’t answer Valery, not because he didn’t know the answer. Valery, infuriatingly correct Valery, maddening really. Maybe he should have thrown him out of the helicopter.  
  
Would he have had anything to do with someone like Valery if that goddamn reactor hadn’t exploded? Unlikely. But fate was funny that way. Valery. That keen mind, sharp, precise. He was always so far ahead of him, patiently waiting for Boris to catch up, and yet so lost on the intricacies of the real world. Valery was how things ought to be. Boris was how things were.  
  
He remembered the last conversation he’d had with Valery. _You were the one who mattered most,_ Valery had said. If only he’d been able to say that back to him, Valery, who mattered most to Boris.  
  
He could be wrong. Boris could have traveled all this way on an incorrect hunch. Well. He would have to find out.  
  
Boris inhaled and exhaled slowly. He reached a hand over towards Valery. His fingertips brushed across the top of Valery’s, the skin cold, Boris’ hand coming to rest on top of Valery’s. He was holding his breath again.  
  
There was still time, time to take his hand back. His actions could be chalked up to overfamiliarity. Boris found himself frozen, fear creeping in, a feeling he categorically denied. He’d experienced it, but to react to it was something for lesser men. It was how he’d been so successful in his past life. None of that mattered now, and Boris was afraid.  
  
He looked up. Valery’s face was unreadable, his hand still. Boris’ heart sank. He had made a mistake. He pulled his hand away.  
  
“I should go,” he heard himself say. Boris coughed. At least he got to say goodbye, which was more than most got. None in his position, surely, exiled and dying. That fire that sat somewhere below his stomach, so small, but so bright, was doused. How achingly disappointing.  
  
Boris stood slowly, leaving the cigarette to burn itself out in an ashtray on the table. “You won’t see me again.” He cast a glance around the apartment.  
  
Valery’s chair scraped back harshly. “Wait! Wait.” He rounded the table, stumbling, coming to stand a foot in front of Boris.  
  
“What, so I can stammer through an explanation of what did not just happen? I thought, well, never you mind what I thought. We’ll both be dead soon anyway.” Boris held out a hand.  
  
“Goodbye, comrade.”  
  
Valery looked up at him, his eyes, blue, like his own, puzzled and hurt. He looked like a sad owl.

\- - -

Valery  
  
_Don’t let him leave! He came all this way!_ A voice screamed in his head. Valery looked at Boris’ hand. It shook a little. No, he didn’t want him to feel like he had to explain anything. Valery didn’t want to say anything either. To say it aloud was dangerous. Even a whiff of such a thing could bring the state down on their heads, any opportunity to further discredit them. Valery chewed his lip.  
  
Boris was only a few inches taller, but he might as well have been a foot, the way his frame towered over him. Valery could shake his hand and let him leave.  
  
Instead, he reached up with his left, slipping it into Boris’, curling his fingers and squeezing.  
  
“Stay.” The words escaped his lips. He could hardly believe his ears. What was he doing?  
  
Boris was close. Very close. It was shredding his nerves, his heartbeat thudding in his chest.  
  
“Look at me, Valera.”  
  
He swallowed hard, blood rushing to his head. Valery looked up, Boris’ eyes freezing him on the spot. Boris let go, sliding his hand up Valery’s arm, stopping at the elbow. Valery reached forward, his palm slipping beneath the jacket lapels, resting it on Boris’ chest. An arm was around his waist, pulling Valery in close, so very close. He tensed, his head swimming. Valery needed a cigarette, or a drink.  
  
Instead, he got kissed.

\- - -

  


Boris  
  
Valery was like a tightly wound instrument, too tight. One wrong move and he would snap. Boris risked it, leaning in to kiss him firmly. Valery’s shoulders were up again; slowly, ever so slowly, he relaxed, his lips fitting to Boris’.  
  
He felt fingers creeping into his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. He sighed into Valery’s mouth, his lips parting.  
  
Slow. Gentle. A certain sweetness to it. Boris had never kissed another man. There didn’t seem to be much difference between this and kissing a woman, except he didn’t have to stoop. That was nice. Valery wasn’t soft and rounded, rather he was all angles, rough spots that he could get caught on. Boris’ arms were around him, holding him, feeling him unclench, slowly. The disappointment at how his life was to end, his anger at the world all seemed to slip away, simply background noise.  
  
Valery had him backed against the door. Boris felt hands fumbling at his belt buckle. He sensed Valery tense and pause.  
  
“I-I-I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m doing,” Valery stuttered out.  
  
Boris reached forward, taking Valery’s glasses off and setting them aside.  
  
“Neither do I, Valery.” He chuckled. “But you know what you like, don’t you?”  
  
“I would like you out of this jacket that doesn’t fit you.” Valery’s hands eased it off Boris’ shoulders.  
  
Boris kissed him again as a hand slipped inside his trousers, Valery’s fingers measuring his length. He groaned and sighed into Valery’s mouth, hardening.  
  
Relinquishing a bit of power. How good it felt to surrender to his baser needs! His hands clasped around Valery’s shoulders as Valery used a hand to pull him out. He groaned again.  
  
“Boris! The neighbors!” Valery hissed.  
  
“Perhaps,” he replied, “we shouldn’t be doing this against your door.”  
  
That was how Boris found himself back on that rickety chair, looking up at Valery, who was undoing his tie gently, and carefully unbuttoning the top button. One hand tipped Boris’ chin back so that Valery could kiss him, lips meeting his, Valery’s other hand back at Boris’ cock, working at him, his fingers at the head, under, circling, teasing, gripping.  
  
Boris clutched one hand around the edge of the chair’s seat, the other behind Valery’s head, surrendering more of his power. His legs had turned to lead, all of his energies focused on Valery’s able fingers and his mouth on his. Need, deep and unfocused reached higher, his member rock-hard. His hand scrabbled for purchase. He didn’t want to hurt Valery, but his need was great, too great.  
  
Boris gave a stifled cry, his hips bucked into Valery’s hand as he came, release spilling out. His body collapsed, spent. If he wasn’t careful, he’d break that blasted chair.  
  
Valery was washing his hands in the sink. Boris pulled out a handkerchief, cleaning up the rest, tucking himself back in and adjusting his fly. Valery turned, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.  
  
“Well, now, what do I do with you?” Boris asked.  
  
Valery’s brows pinched. He’d located his glasses and put them back on. Boris beckoned him forward, holding out his hand. Valery took it.  
  
“Where do you sleep?”

\- - -

Valery  
  
Boris was undressing him.  
  
Valery had hooked his thumbs into his suspenders, shyly pulling them off his shoulders. Boris took his glasses off again. When he’d protested, Boris had kissed him.  
  
“Belt and suspenders?” Boris asked, a trace of a smile in his voice. Valery had shrugged uselessly. “Always so careful.”  
  
His shirt was unbuttoned and removed. Valery put a hand out when Boris reached his undershirt. Boris hadn’t said anything, simply moving onto Valery’s trousers, unbuckling his belt and pushing him back towards the bed with one hand so that Valery was seated, leaning back onto his elbows, legs on the floor with his pants pooling around his ankles.  
  
If his mental faculties had been operating at full capacity, he would have been able to fully appreciate the situation. As it was, he was simply enjoying the comfort of human touch, connection with Boris. It had felt good to touch Boris that way, feel him shudder beneath him. Boris wasn’t made entirely out of stone. He hadn’t fully understood how inexorably close they’d become.  
  
His fingers ran through Boris’ hair, something he’d wanted to do the moment he’d kissed him. It was softer towards the back, where it was darker, spikier where it dissolved into the silver.  
  
Boris was tugging at his underwear, clean, but ancient. He heard a tear.  
  
“Seems I don’t know my own strength,” Boris remarked.  
  
“I’m quite sure that’s never been true.” Valery yelped in surprise as they ripped fully off. Before he could protest, Boris’ hands were on him, one squeezing his inner thigh, the other on him, on all of him, Valery stiffening under Boris’ deft fingers.  
  
“Relax, Valera,” Boris mumbled into his thigh.  
  
He found it helpful if he looked up at the ceiling, his eyes fixing on a crack from the window, following it where it branched in twain. He was lightheaded, blood rushing south as he hardened. His back, which he’d arched involuntarily when Boris had started removing his pants, slowly relaxed in spite of himself. One of his hands found Boris’ head again.  
  
Boris’ mouth was on him. He tensed, again. He was going soft.  
  
“Do you trust me?” Boris’ voice was low, thrumming through him.  
  
Valery realized he was holding his breath. He looked down. Boris had sat back slightly, locking eyes with him.  
  
“We’ve come this far,” Boris said.  
  
God, how he needed him! Had he always needed him? Did it matter? His life was falling through the hourglass rapidly. Even as he sat here, his body was poisoning itself from the inside. Boris’ too. What did it matter? A fleeting moment of happiness. He had suffered enough.  
  
“Yes,” he breathed out.  
  
“Then for fuck’s sake,” Boris grasped Valery’s naked hips, forcing him farther back onto the bed, “let me do my job.” He was on Valery again, feeling the length of him, his mouth hot, much hotter than Valery expected, the air cold when Boris moved off. Valery shivered, twisting into the thin blanket, admiring Boris, efficient as in all things, this being no exception. His body wilted, remembering what it was like to have someone touch him, someone who cared for him, someone who knew him.  
  
Succumbing would be so easy. He was close, his hips hitching closer, up to meet Boris. His hands gripped the blanket fiercely and he was hard to the point nearly of pain, terribly uncomfortable, yet exquisite.  
  
“Boris, please,” he found himself begging, his words spurring Boris on. That taut feeling that was always in him, beneath the surface, was stretched to the breaking point. His heart might simply burst, his body writhing into the mattress. That string stretched, tighter, tighter, until-  
  
Valery erupted, muffling his cries with his fist, deeply needed release leaving him boneless and wrung out, Boris making a small noise of satisfaction. He looked up at the ceiling, the crack, and smiled.  
  
Later, much later, Boris lay next to him, the bed a little too small for two, neither complaining. After Boris had persuaded him to remove all of his clothes, and after Boris had done the same, Boris as impressive fully naked as he was in a suit, after more hands, and mouths, and touching, and kissing. Boris was tucked under Valery’s arm. He’d taken one of Valery’s cigarettes, the smoke mingling with Valery’s.  
  
“When do you leave, Borenka?”  
  
Boris looked up, smiling. “I haven’t been called Borenka in…I’m not sure how long.” He sat up, crushing out his cigarette, looking at his watch.  
  
“Too late to leave now.” He grumbled a bit, seeing dawn creep in. “I’ve been assured I have a few days. Tomorrow night. Maybe Tuesday.” Boris reached his spare arm across Valery’s midsection, resting his head on his chest and closing his eyes. Valery curled his arm around Boris’ bulk, nearly laughing at the improbability of the sight.  
  
“Don’t smirk.”  
  
Valery didn’t even wonder aloud how Boris knew.  
  
“Or what?”  
  
“I’ll show you once I’m done napping.”  
  
Valery smiled. He had work to do. He needed to finish his tapes, and there was a presentation he was required to do, a few months from now. He’d be expected to lie.  
  
But that was a lifetime away.  
  
For now, he was content.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from my favorite visual character choice from the show for Valery. I wanted to give these characters a better chance at goodbye. No idea if the KGB would have permitted Valery to get mail.
> 
> Update 6/18: edited some typos I swear weren't there when I hit publish. Also, thank you to everyone leaving comments. This is my second piece of fanfic, and my first published. It's been delightful to get such lovely comments on my writing.


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